You Called Her a What?
Griff
Ryder stared like I'd just shaved my head to join a cult. "You called her a fuck buddy? Are you fucking serious?"
I stared back. "That's not what I said. I told her she wasn't a fuck buddy. That's the whole point."
He shook his head. "Wow, and I thought I sucked at this."
This made me pause. Ryder was cocky to a fault, especially when it came to women. My eyebrows furrowed as I asked, "Is there something you wanna share?"
"Fuck no," he said with a laugh. "We're talking about you, remember?"
It would be pretty hard to forget, considering that I'd called him barely twenty minutes after Maisie had left.
I'd been hoping that Ryder was still on the island.
Why, I couldn't exactly say.
Maybe I hadn't felt like being alone.
Or I'd been hoping to hear that I'd done the right thing.
What I hadn't hoped was for Ryder to laugh like any of this was funny. I was too angry to be amused and too empty to give him grief in return.
We were sitting on a hotel balcony overlooking Main Street. The place was nice, with ornate railing and patio chairs that were more comfortable than my bed – meaning the bed at the shithole, not the king-size counterpart in Chicago.
And yet somehow, over the past few weeks, I'd gotten used to living rough.
Not Ryder though.
The way it looked, he'd gotten himself a suite.
I glanced toward the interior, taking all of it in – the nice sofa, the small kitchenette, and the door to the bedroom beyond. "Just how long have you been staying here?"
"Why?" he asked. "Jealous?"
Hell, yeah. I was jealous. To think, the fucker had put me up in some kind of dumpster while he was living it up on Main Street.
In the back of my mind, I couldn't help but wonder…if I'd been staying someplace nicer, would've the thing with Maisie gone down any different?
Probably not.
Still, it would've been nice to blame what happened on anything else. Not me. Not her. And not the guy sitting next to me, who'd started the ball rolling.
That fucking bet.
But of course, if it weren't for the bet, I never would've met Maisie at all. I shoved a hand through my hair and tried not to think about it.
Except it was all I could think about.
She'd been gone barely an hour, and I felt strangely hollow, like someone had reached in and yanked out my heart.
Next to me, Ryder said, "If you want, I'll order room service."
I gave him a funny look. "It's almost eleven."
"Yeah, so?"
Below us, the street and sidewalks were nearly empty, with most of the businesses closed for the night. "So their kitchen's still open?"
"They don't have a kitchen," he said with a laugh. "But with enough money, you can get almost anything."
"Not Maisie," I said, mostly to myself.
Ryder gave me a long, sideways look. "Say what?"
I slumped in my seat. "She hates that I'm rich."
He turned to face me head-on and then openly gawked, like I was some kind of animal in a zoo. And he kept gawking, as if waiting for me to start doing tricks.
I felt ready to snap. "What are you looking at?"
"Me?" He let out a low scoff. "The way it sounds, I'm looking at a dumbass."
My jaw clenched. Why had I come here, anyway?
But I knew why. I'd been on the verge of losing it. Before calling Ryder, I'd been ready to pack up and leave the island entirely – not by ferry, but by private jet.
Screw the bet. With a simple phone call, I could be home in just a couple of hours.
Sure, I'd get some ribbing and a shit-ton of "I told you sos.
" But I'd also get all the luxuries of home – a bed that felt like a cloud, a chef's kitchen stocked with everything I liked, and a killer view of the Chicago skyline in all its glory.
There was only one problem.
For reasons I didn't want to dwell on, the place in Chicago wasn't sounding like home at all.
Fuck.
I held Ryder's gaze, refusing to flinch. Tonight had already sucked. And now, my friend was calling me a dumbass.
Judging from his expression – smug with a dash of pity – he wasn't about to take it back.
Finally, I asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're either stupid or you're lying." He leaned back in his seat. "The only question is…are you lying to me? Or to yourself?"
When I answered with nothing but a hard look, he added, "You do know you're lying, right?"
It was a big topic, and if he really wanted to go there, he would need to narrow it down. Grudgingly, I asked, "About what?"
"She didn't 'dump' you because you're rich. You do know that, right?"
"Yeah, well…trust me, it didn't help."
Unfazed, Ryder kept going. "She dumped you because you were pretending that the two of you are the same."
"Bullshit."
"I'm not talking about who you are day-to-day," he clarified. "I mean the rest of it." He gave me a rueful smile. "Lemme guess. She learned about your dad."
Something soured in my gut. "He's not my dad. He's an asshole."
"Yeah, a rich asshole."
"So?"
Ryder shrugged. "So, like father, like son."
A low, ugly heat rose in my throat. "Bullshit," I said yet again. "I'm nothing like him."
"You look alike."
So fucking what? Through clenched teeth, I said, "I meant on the inside."
"Yeah, well…you act alike, too."
My pulse spiked like I'd just taken one hell of a hit. "Fuck this." I shoved back my chair and turned to go.
Ryder stood. "Hang on, will ya?"
I felt like decking him. "What?"
"I don't mean personalities. Or hell, ethics. I just mean…you're both pretty ambitious – came from nothing and still came out on top."
"Oh, yeah?" I stepped closer and said in a tight voice, "The only difference is, I'm not a fucking vulture. And if I had a kid…" I stopped short. "You know what? Forget it."
I moved to the balcony door and yanked it open.
Ryder's voice, low and awestruck, carried from behind. "Shit, man. You really are in love."
I froze. Was I?
But I already knew the answer. Sure, I hadn't said it. But I had felt it.
And now?
The only thing I felt was pissed off.
I flipped him the finger and walked through the door, leaving Ryder on the balcony alone as I strode through his suite and made for the exit.
Just as I was heading out into the hall, Ryder called out, "You know I'm right."
I paused for half a beat and then kept on going, letting the door swing shut behind me.
Maybe he was right.
But I wasn't about to admit it.
Not tonight.
All I wanted now was to forget.
Forget me.
Forget Maisie.
Forget why I'd come here in the first place.
And most of all, forget any plans I'd been making to stay.